My life on the other side of the rabbithole

I just want you to know who I am

How do fix a big mistake? How do you stop a whirling dervish? An avalanche? Rolling boulder off a mountaintop? That’s how this feels. I feel the weight of someone else’s decision – that I didn’t challenge – on my shoulders.

It’s days like this I wish I got my PhD like I’d planned.

Long story short and without HIPAA violations: someone who I felt was unnecessarily petitioned and viewed as a psychiatric patient ended up involuntarily sent to a psych facility. Because my higher ups – the attending – overrode my recommendation.

We’ve just created a psych history for a person who didn’t have one, didn’t need one. Great. I’m party to that and I feel like a piece of liquid shit. Thank you. No really – THANK YOU.

I don’t think these baseliners (ooh I like that!) truly understand the weight that having a hospitalization can carry on you. Mentally ill folk can’t carry guns here. With a psych history, it’s harder to obtain life insurance, you cannot enter the military, and imagine every time you saw a physician your symptoms were met with skepticism and disrespect.

Now remember you don’t have a mental illness. (See the twist?!)

That’s fucked up. If I knew then what I know now, I’m not sure I’d be here. I didn’t sign up to put baseliners, homeless baseliners, homeless addicts and just plain addicts in psych units. It’s not a shelter; it’s not rehab. When the truly mentally ill come along – get this – all the fucking beds are full!

Fuck the system and the peg leg it stands on. ::::spits on the ground::::